


Battle Burns Red

by Captain_Savvy, Fukugami



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle, Death, Emerald Graves, F/M, Red Lyrium, Samson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Savvy/pseuds/Captain_Savvy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fukugami/pseuds/Fukugami
Summary: Inquisition Captain Alora Trevelyan leads her battalion into the Emerald Graves on a standard assignment. While there, they get more than they bargained for, and Alora makes a dangerous decision.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first story posted on ao3, oh Maker. 
> 
> This story is set in an AU in which Alora Trevelyan is not the inquisitor, but is a captain of the Inquisition's army. Get ready for some angst! 
> 
> Taymir, Selvaneth, Errol and Rineth were all created by and belong to Fukugami.

The Emerald Graves were beautiful, despite their sad story. It was a place of lush green hills and moss-covered stone beneath enormous, ancient trees; truly it felt like another world to Captain Alora Trevelyan. If not for the dangers and corruption lurking there, she felt she could have almost been on holiday.

Five days had passed since the Inquisition captain had arrived and set up camp with her battalion. The orders passed down to her by Commander Cullen were simple; eliminate the red templars or venatori in the area. Sister Nightingale’s scouts had marked lyrium shipments moving through the Graves weeks ago. If the Inquisition wanted to halt their enemies, they needed to cut off their supply of the corrupted ore. Though the Inquisitor had been working steadily at this task, it was too enormous for one man- touched by Andraste or not.

Alora didn’t mind the assignment. She relished the chance to get out of Skyhold and see real battle instead of just running drills. She thrived most with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, leading her troops forward with fire in her veins; Knowing they were thwarting Corypheus only made it more thrilling. Three times they had found and destroyed red lyrium shipments, along with the red templars guarding them. The battles had been fierce but her people were left with no major wounds. They were trained well, after all.

Dawn’s light now sprinkled through the leafy boughs that roofed the forest. Early mist curled about the trees, lending an ethereal feeling to the already mysterious woods. Alora woke early as she normally did, and gave a small sigh. She would have liked to remain tucked beneath blankets with the warm body snuggled close to her- but duty came first. With a drowsy smile she pressed a kiss against her elven lover’s brow.

“Hnng, what?” Selvaneth snorted ungracefully and opened one amber eye, “No. It’s too early.”

“Come on now. We’ve got work to do.”

“You’re never this chipper at Skyhold.”

“Maybe it’s the forest air.”

“No, it’s hitting things with a sword, because you’re a bloody madwoman.”

“Teasing your captain now?” She gave him a grin and snatched the blanket away, eliciting an unhappy grunt from her lover. “Once we’re done here, I promise you a grand celebration back at the Keep. Now rise and shine.”

With a heavy dose of grumbling curses the elf dragged himself up along with her to face the day. The morning wake-up call was made, and the camp soon buzzed with activity. Breakfast rations were warmed and served. Armor and weapons were polished and adorned. Joking comments were muttered behind hands about the captain and her favorite soldier, and Selvaneth shot many an annoyed glance to those who dared. It wasn’t that he cared if they talked about him. The tales of his exploits had entertained his comrades for a long while before he and the captain had become involved. What bothered him was the display of disrespect for her - even if it was all in good humor.

“Done it again have you?” A large avvar man named Errol asked when Selvaneth approached one of the cook fires, “Captain sure fancies you, she does.”

“Don’t make Selvaneth blush now,” The half-elven woman named Rineth piped up with a half-grin, “It’ll ruin his sparkling reputation.”

“He has a sparkling reputation?”

“Well, an interesting one to say the least.”

Selvaneth snarled in annoyance. “Both of you shut it before I cut your ears off.”

Errol laughed and turned his head to show off a mangled ear. “Give it a try! That bear already began it, and things didn‘t end too well for him.”

“Well, I’m no bear,” Selvaneth scowled as he sat down with his breakfast.

“You‘re more like a cat,” Rineth quipped, “Ornery, prickly, and only likes being petted by certain people.”

 

Alora stood outside her tent, an amused smile on her lips at this exchange. It was good to see her troops in high spirits, even if they were gossiping. She didn’t really care. She wouldn’t apologize for her relationship with Selvaneth, and at least it gave her soldiers something to talk about besides war.

The captain had just strapped on her sword when she saw one of her scouts return to camp. The young man was pale faced as he wove through the many bodies and tents filling the grassy area. When he reached her he threw up a nervous salute.

“Jarvin, what is it?” she asked, showing no emotion though inwardly she was on guard.

“A large red templar caravan,” he said, “Not an hour’s travel eastward, moving this way with four wagons of red lyrium.”

“Good,” Alora smacked a fist against her open palm, her lips set in a firm line, “The more we can destroy, the better.”

“But that’s not all, captain,” Jarvin licked his lips nervously, his eyes shifting back and forth, “Samson is leading them.”

“Samson?!” Her eyes widened; she felt like she’d been punched in the stomach, “Corypheus’ general is _here_?!”

“Aye ser,” the young man nodded, “It was him, clear as day. I know the sight of him from my time in Kirkwall, and they called him by name besides.”

“How many red templars with him?”

“Twenty.”

“I see. Dismissed. Go take your breakfast.”

 

As Jarvin walked away, Selvaneth approached. He was lazily tugging at the straps of his own leather armor, getting it into place for another day of patrols and battles. His golden eyes narrowed at the worried scout and then flicked back to his lover’s face. He could see the disconcertion beneath her stoic expression.

“Did I hear him say Samson?”

“Yes,” Alora frowned deeply, “Along with twenty red templars.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Commander Cullen gave strict orders not to engage Samson in battle,” she continued, her mind racing, her arms crossed over her breastplate, “But this is the first we’ve seen or heard of him in months. Inquisitor Alhan has been searching for him, looking for a way to defeat him, without any luck. Now the Maker has dropped him right into our laps.”

“Twenty red templars?” Selvaneth asked, and swiftly counted on his fingers, “We’ve got…. Twenty five soldiers. Plus you and me, we‘re as good as ten more.”

“We have an excellent chance of defeating the red templars,” Alora began to pace back and forth, her gloved hands gesturing animatedly as she spoke, her brows drawn together, “But Samson is an unknown factor. We already know he has no problem corrupting his own men and turning them into monsters.”

“Right.”

“No doubt he’ll be merciless in battle. And we’ve no idea what kind of power he has- what sort of cursed armor or weapons he uses. But now we have a rare golden opportunity. We could destroy Samson and cripple our enemy’s army permanently.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Maker’s breath, Cullen will be furious with me for going against orders. But if we don’t act now, we may never get another chance.”

Selvaneth sighed and shook his head slightly. “You’re just talking yourself in circles.”

“Am I?” She had never been one for indecision. The woman chewed her lower lip, her eyes scanning the camp. Mentally she was weighing their changes, imagining the battle and the possible outcomes. There was no time to call for backup. This could indeed be their only chance to get at Samson without an entire army to support him.

“Just do it.” The elf’s voice pierced her troubled thoughts, “I’ll be right behind you. Admiring the view.”

Alora scoffed and shook her head. “You’re such an ass.”

“Maybe, but I’ll support whatever you do, Lori.”

Her cheeks briefly reddened at his rare use of the nickname; it was such an unusual gesture of affection for the surly elf. His expression was deadly serious, now. He stood with his hands resting on the hilts of his daggers, waiting on her to speak, and she knew that he meant every word he said.

“Right,” she said, giving a resolute nod, “We strike. Cullen will be angry, but it will be worth it when we bring Samson back to Skyhold’s dungeon in chains.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

The Inquisition battalion moved through the wild woods in formation, following the path Alora had set for them on the map. Their scouts slipped ahead and kept to the shadows, watching and waiting, reporting back. After an hour of marching they spotted their foes in a shallow valley below them. From her place at the head of the group the captain could see Samson down below. The man was enormous, as big as Errol, a large sword at his hip. She could see that his armor seemed to be fused with his body, which was not unusual for the poor souls corrupted by red lyrium. The difference was that he appeared to be completely in control of his own mind. He was already aware of their presence; he had stopped the caravan and stood waiting, arms crossed, staring up at the top of the hill in their direction. Sick laughter tumbled forth when he spotted the shine on their armor and it lifted up to meet them.

“Look here, men!” Samson crowed as he slowly drew his blade from its sheath, “The Inquisitor’s sent us visitors! Show them the Elder One’s warmest welcome!”

There would be no surprise attack.

“Inquisition, Go!” Alora shouted, thrusting her blade into the air “For the Herald!”

With a fantastic war cry her horde rushed forward with blades bared. The archers attacked from behind, letting lose a volley that reached the enemy before their warriors. A few adversaries fell- but the red templars showed no sign of surprise or dismay; they merely drew their weapons and dove into fighting with a speed and ferocity no normal man could muster. Alora’s troops were ready. Her warriors and archers slammed against the enemy force in a cacophony of clashing armor and steel. The song of battle filled the air -and the captain had her gaze focused on Samson. With adrenaline pumping through her body she rushed toward him. A red knight stepped in her way; _clang, clang, clang, sshhhp_! She knocked aside its blade and relieved the creature of its head. Something flew at her from the right. An axe! Selvaneth was there in a flash of warm skin and dark hair, his blades catching the enemy weapon and throwing it aside. A moment later his daggers ripped open the templars’ throat and sent it crumpling to the earth.

“They’re tough!” the elf grunted before moving on to his next opponent, always keeping near to Alora. His words were true, but she knew the secret- cut off the snake’s head to kill the body. Take out their general and they would falter and scatter.

“Samson!” she challenged. Now that her path was clear she ran at him with her sword held high. In a flash of blazing red his own came for her; steel kissed steel as their blades crossed, grinding Alora to a halt. The hilts were locked, two forces pushing against one another. The captain found her arms shaking with the effort to keep his weapon from shoving into her neck. The steel of his blade sparked and thrummed with dark magic- red lyrium- and she could almost hear it humming against her ear. Alora’s heart wavered when she realized he was barely putting forth an effort- but then she grimaced and pushed harder. They couldn’t give up! Not now that the dice had been rolled! Samson chuckled wickedly behind his helmet, yellowed teeth grinning and the stench of decay and acrid lyrium on his breath.

“Which one are you, then?” he asked, “Rylen, is it? Trevelyan? What lamb has old Cullen sent to the slaughter today?”

“The only one who will be slaughtered here is you, bastard,” She growled back, and with a cry heaved all her weight against him. Samson stepped back, still laughing as he whipped his glowing sword back and forth. Again she tried to get in a blow, but he was fast- as fast as a demon, but with more weight behind his movements. Each time he blocked her thrusts, pain vibrated through her body; the magic of the sword burned in her veins. She could not gain an inch against him. There was a tinge of the maniacal on his voice as he cackled and it made her grow more and more uneasy; more than that it made her furious. All of the pain and suffering he had caused and here he stood laughing.

“You’re no match for the Inquisition, Samson!” she cried, readjusting her position to attack, “We will drag you back to Skyhold for judgment!”

“That cocky attitude will be your death, Captain!” he cried with a frightening smile, and with that he raised his arms in the air, gripping the sword and letting out a bestial roar. A blast of energy pulsed from him- or his armor- and swept through the area with a high-pitched wail and a scalding heat. Alora held up her shield against it; the force nearly knocked her down, and it sent waves of agitation through her every nerve. Even as she watched she saw the red templars suddenly explode with power. Their muscles bulged and stretched unnaturally; spiked lyrium tore from raw and corrupted flesh, and the creatures screamed with ungodly pain and rage. Then, they began to fight again- this time like madmen, pushed on by a demonic force, without thought, without tiring. One of her people fell in a spray of blood and screams; then another, and another. Their armor tore like paper, their weapons bounced off like children’s toys and they fell like flies. Their valiant hearts and expert training meant nothing in the face of Samson’s evil power. Tenfold the templars’ strength had grown in the span of a single moment- and her soldiers had not been prepared.

Alora’s heart dropped into her stomach. The foolishness of her decision surrounded her like a stifling gas. She’d made a terrible mistake. A deadly mistake. With a hard shake of her head she stepped back.

“Retreat!” she roared, “Fall back, everyone! FALL BACK!”

“Don’t be in such a hurry, now!” Samson called and lashed out; he was there before her in the blink of an eye, his speed inhuman. She raised her shield. With a thunderous crack the red blade came down. Her shield was split asunder. It shattered over her, throwing shards of silverite down in showers; and Alora cried out in pain as she felt her wrist snap painfully under the weight of the blow. A hard kick sent her stumbling back head over heels on the ground. The world spun around her; pain and dismay filled her.

“Help the captain! The bastard‘s gonna kill her!” she heard someone’s voice- it seemed to be Rineth’s- but Alora pushed herself up with her good hand.

“No!” the woman cried as she struggled to stand, “I said retreat! _GO_!”

Errol grabbed the half elf and tucked her securely under one arm even as she struggled to go to her captain’s aid, and retreated. They were followed by a few others- all injured, limping, barely able to run. Only one soldier was not going in the opposite direction. Selvaneth saw Alora trying to regain her feet with Samson looming over her like a red shadow. The dark general delivered a bone-crushing kick to her ribs that sent her rolling; her sword fell from her grasp and her helmet slipped from her head. This sight drove Selvaneth forward with an intense focus, anger tipped by fear fueling his movements. He had to get to her side. He had to save her, no matter the cost to himself. A templar came at him and he whirled to the side, whipping his blades across the corrupted man’s neck like lighting. With blood spattered on his armor he continued at a run.

_Twang._

The snap of a bowstring; and white hot pain suddenly exploded in his right knee. Selvaneth pitched forward. He crashed hard against the ground, scraping through dirt and rock, fingers digging into the earth as pain sailed up his body. An anguished scream poured forth from his lips, muffled as he buried his face in the grass. His senses were in an upheaval, but through the throbbing of his muscles and roiling of his stomach he still knew he had to help Alora. Lips locked in an animalistic snarl he staggered upright. He saw Samson kicked her again, heard a crack through her armor, and his sense of urgency grew. When he attempted to stand, however, his right leg gave way. He dropped to the ground again, tears stinging his eyes, and this time he saw the arrow protruding through his leg, right below the knee. The leg had no strength to carry him. Agony pulsed through him again and again.

“Shit!” he cursed madly, fingers trembling as he reached for the arrow’s shaft, “Shit! Shit!”

Alora now scrambled on her knees and her good hand, ragged breaths scraping over her throat, searching for her lost sword. Blurred eyes searched desperately for her weapon as she crawled on one hand, knowing she needed it if she were to have even a chance. Through the fog consuming her vision she saw Selvaneth lying on the ground, writhing in pain amidst the bodies of his dead comrades, and cold realization hit her. Horror flooded her heart, completely quenching the fire of battle.

_No. No. Andraste, please, no. Not like this. What have I done?_

Her hand brushed the familiar pommel of her weapon; her fingers grasped the hilt and she lifted the blade. Alora rolled over and held it out toward Samson as she staggered to her feet. She had no strength to beat him in battle. As she stared she realized with stunned disbelief that there was not one dent in his armor. Not one wound on his skin. Not even a scratch. A contemptuous smile crept over his face.

“Pathetic,” he said, “Is this the best the Inquisition has to offer? The Elder One will be pleased to hear how easy you lot were to kill.”

“Quiet,” Alora rasped, her throat tightening when she realized just how many they had lost, “I’ll make you pay for this, you monster!”

“Ah, but you were the one who attacked us first, remember? This was your own doing.” Samson’s hand shot out like a striking snake; his fingers dug into the exposed flesh of her neck, and with little effort he lifted her clear off the ground. Alora dropped her sword and tore at the man’s hand desperately. Slowly, he began to squeeze her throat, cutting off her air supply.

“I’ll let the rest of you pitiful bastards go. ‘Course you know we could squash the lot of you like insects, but I want you to go. Let your poor soldiers spread word through their ranks about Samson and his mighty Red Templars. Make them fear us. Go crawling back to your Commander and let Cullen see what fine soldiers he’s recruited.”

Suddenly he tossed her aside like a rag doll. Alora crashed against the ground with a rattling of armor and lay still. Everything hurt. Every breath was a strain against her cracked ribs, every heartbeat throbbed through her broken wrist, every sword-wound burned like fire. Worse was the pain engulfing her heart and mind. The hatred for Samson that filled her soul. The loathing for herself.

“Oh, and tell Cullen I’ve a position for him if he wants to join the winning side,” Samson said with a laugh, “I could use someone to clean my boots.”

The general’s mocking laughter echoed through the trees as he turned and walked away. His men followed; there was no laughter from them, soulless monsters they had become. Alora kept her eyes screwed shut, listening to the creaking of the lyrium wagons as they rolled slowly away. The warrior in her knew she was a coward for lying there still and silent while he escaped; was humiliated by this ridiculous loss. She hadn’t stood a chance against Samson. The captain in her was grieving for those whose lives she had thrown away in this foolish venture.

“Shit, Alora,” Selvaneth’s voice suddenly broke through her mire of pain and racing thoughts. “You look like hell. Are you alright?”

She felt his hand on her face and she opened her eyes to see him sitting beside her. His expression was one of exhaustion and pain; he was dirty and bloodied, a nasty bruise forming on his jaw, but he was alive. She had to fight the impulse to grab him and bawl like a child.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied, and sat up slowly. “Samson is gone.”

“Looks like it,” he grimaced, grasping his calf tightly, “Damned bastards- when I find the fool who shot me I’ll rip his spine out.”

“Maker, Selvaneth,” Alora observed the arrow still lodged in his leg. “We have to get back to camp so the healer can get you taken care of.”

“And you,” he grunted.

Alora gazed around them. It was hard to look. There were nine red templar corpses. Sixteen Inquisition corpses littered the ground. The captain felt herself tremble at the sight. Loss was normal in war. All soldiers knew the risk when they signed on- but these had been members of her battalion. Her troops. Her mismatched little family… and she had sent them to death. Bile rose in her throat. 

 

“Captain?”

It was then that two of the survivors returned. Rineth stormed into the clearing with Errol close behind, weapons bared as though they would fight. They halted and looked about them in dismay at the carnage. Neither of them had escaped unscathed. A large gash had been opened across Errol’s chest. Rineth’s arms were a mess of cuts and slices.

“You should have let me stay and fight, you stupid ox!” The half elf growled tearfully as she punched the avvar squarely in the side.

“No,” Alora said, “You probably would have died as well.”

“Why didn’t they come after us?” Errol rested his spiked club against the ground tiredly, “They could have wiped us out.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The captain pushed herself to her feet with great effort. She felt like she would collapse where she stood; but she took a deep breath and steeled herself. She had to be a leader first. She could grieve later. “We must note the names of the dead, and burn the bodies. It’s the best we can do for them here.”

Especially since many of the poor souls had died pierced by spears of red lyrium. Alora knew they could not let their comrades’ corpses grow that evil substance. The mere thought chilled her.

“Errol will get you two back to camp,” Rineth offered somberly, stepping in and taking charge without any prompting, “You look bloody awful. I will work here until more help comes from the camp.”

 

 ***

 

There was no warm welcome for them in their encampment. There were no exciting war stories shared as the company healer tended the various wounds of the few remaining soldiers. The evening meal was served, but no one was hungry and it went largely uneaten. All in all the place seemed too empty and silent; the tents of their dead comrades stood unoccupied, the weight of their defeat hung over everything like a storm cloud.

In her tent Alora penned her report for Commander Cullen. Each word pained her to write, but she recorded every detail, including her responsibility for the whole thing. When the messenger raven was gone with the rolled parchment, the captain slumped into her bedroll beside Selvaneth. The elf was silent- his leg was wrapped and medicated, and a heavy dose of elfroot and embrium had him half asleep. As far as Alora was concerned, that was fine. She didn’t know what to say, anyway; all she knew was that tonight she didn’t want to be alone. She carefully rolled to her side to keep the weight off her back and ribs, and rested her head on his shoulder. With a drowsy mumble Selvaneth moved, shifting so that he embraced her.

“It’ll be alright, Lori,” he muttered without even opening his eyes, “Rest.”

Alora said nothing. Her heart was heavy as she closed her eyes; and with her face buried in his tangled hair, she quietly wept herself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alora faces the consequences for her actions, while Cullen makes a difficult decision.

“You should know how serious this is.” 

Cullen didn’t even look up at her when he spoke. Alora stood in his office with her hands clasped loosely behind her, only just returned to Skyhold a half hour prior. She was beyond tired. Her wounds throbbed with every pulse, cracked ribs and wrist ached with every breath, but that was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. The cause for all of it was in the reports spread over the Commander’s desk. He had read them days ago, yet now he stared at the parchments instead of meeting her gaze. It wasn’t that he needed to be reminded of their contents. He just didn’t have the stomach to look at her. 

“I do know,” she answered. 

“I am not so sure that you do.” He was leaning over the desk, his weight resting on his fists where they lay upon the polished wood, “Maker’s breath, Alora. What were you thinking?”

Her stomach knotted. That sick feeling of guilt had followed her all the way from their ill fated campaign into the wilds, and now it only worsened at the tone of his voice. Disappointment. Anger. Disgust. She had dreaded this meeting.

“Cullen, I know I made a horrible mistake-”

“A mistake?!” Now the man’s head snapped up, barely contained anger gleaming in narrowed eyes, “A mistake would have been stumbling into enemy territory in the rain or running out of arrows in the middle of a battle! This was not a mistake! You deliberately disobeyed my direct orders, and in doing so you cost over a dozen good men and women their lives!” 

“I know,” she said, “It was my decision- a terrible one, and I will never forgive myself, but I just thought that if we could-”

“It doesn‘t matter what you ‘thought’,” the Commander‘s voice was heavy, “What’s done is done.”

It was hard to believe that she and Cullen had been drinking and laughing together in the tavern just a few weeks ago. There was no hint of a smile on his face now, not even the barest flicker of understanding in his eyes. He stood upright and began to slowly pace back and forth. 

“Our soldiers trust us to lead them well, to direct them to victory and to pull them back when need be. Their safety is our responsibility- and you abandoned that responsibility.” He pointed a gloved finger accusingly, “You ignored my express mandate to avoid confronting Samson. You knowingly sent your troops into a fight they could not win.”

“But I believed we could win,” she protested, her voice carrying the weight of her regret, “It was a small force of red templars- no bigger than any other we’ve faced before. It seemed like the perfect chance to….”

The fire in his glare quieted her. She knew her words were meaningless, anyway. Like he’d said, what’s done was done. Nothing would bring back the lives of her lost soldiers. “I was wrong. Prideful and foolish.”

“That is putting it mildly.”

Silence fell between them. For an awkward moment he glared at her, and she felt herself shrinking beneath his gaze. This was not Cullen, her friend. This was Commander Rutherford, her superior, prepared to deal out justice for the wrong she had committed.

 

“You were one of the Inquisition’s best. Not only did your soldiers trust you. I trusted you. I cannot believe you would be so ….” His voice trailed off, and ended with a frown as he turned away from her, a hand dragging across the base of his skull. For a few minutes he stood gazing out of the window at the mountains. Alora could see the vein pulsing at his temple like it did whenever he was stressed; she knew he was not seeing the snowy landscape. The silence grew heavy. Eventually he spoke again.

“I swore to severely punish any officer who went against my orders concerning Samson. You realize you cannot be an exception.”

“Of course not.”

“By all accounts I should have you arrested for treason. Let the Inquisitor judge you before the court.”

Alora’s mouth went dry; her tongue felt thick. She had only ever been loyal to the Inquisition. The thought of being tried as a traitor, that anyone would view her as one… that Cullen could call her one… made bile rise in her throat and chills run down her back. 

 

“But…” The man went on, “In honor of what good you have done for the Inquisition before this, I feel compelled show you mercy.”

“Ser?”

Cullen turned and met her gaze, his expression grim. His voice was quiet with weariness, but firm. “Alora Trevelyan, you are hereby stripped of your command and relieved of your duty. Surrender your Inquisition issued armor. You are no longer a part of this organization.” 

The words hit her like a ton of bricks, the impact making her stomach lurch violently. Cold sweat beaded on her brow and neck, and she felt as though she would be physically sick.

“B-but I‘ve been with the Inquisition since the beginning,” she protested, “I’ve fought for our cause- I’ve bled for it! I’m sorry for what I’ve done, Cullen- truly! I know I can’t make it right, but I can still serve!”

His stony expression cracked, revealing the pain underneath. It was clear he took no pleasure from this. A cringe twisted his features and he shook his head. “Alora, please don’t.”

“I don’t need a commanding rank,” she went on, her voice taking on a desperate tone as she felt everything she cared about slipping away from her, “Demote me- put me in the lowest rank we have- Maker, I’ll go back to training raw recruits. I’ll muck the damned stables or scrub pots- but I can still serve the Inquisition, Cullen. Please, don‘t do this to me.”

His face turned away from her; his brows were drawn together, his lips pulled down at the corners. His fur-capped shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. After a few seconds of tense silence he spoke. “You may remain here as a civilian, if you wish… but it may be best for you to leave Skyhold altogether.” 

Alora fell silent, trying desperately to swallow the lump in her throat, to banish the terror pulling at her senses. She had faced demons and undead, had been through hellish battles, but for the first time she now felt truly frightened. A deep, cold, unyielding fear. What was worse than being thrown out of the Inquisition, being sent away from the place and the people she had come to love? Having no duty and no purpose? 

Her mind returned to the woodland battlefield where she had dared to confront Samson with her regiment of soldiers. She heard the enemy general’s mocking laughter and felt his hand squeezing her throat with terrifying strength. She saw the people who had trusted her, now lying dead in the grass. Maker, Selvaneth had nearly been among them. What would she have done if he had died too? The only reason he hadn’t- the only reason she hadn’t- was because Samson had chosen to let them go. To return to their Commander in humiliation with the tale of their enemy’s mind boggling power.

The knotted feeling in her gut was joined by something worse. Resignation. Cullen was right. She had made a grave error in judgment, and this truly was a merciful punishment. If she were permitted to lead again who could say what mistake she would make next time? No. What she’d done couldn’t be forgiven. Alora struggled to find her voice. Her throat felt closed off and her mind a jumble of morose thoughts.

“As you order, Commander,” she finally said, and turned on her heel without waiting for a dismissal. 

When the door shut behind her, Cullen leaned heavily on his desk. His head throbbed and his heart ached. 

It was a dark day for the Inquisition, in more ways than one.


End file.
